


And So It Begins

by Hoodoo



Series: Orcish Inamorato [1]
Category: Orcs-Fandom, Original Work, exophilia-fandom
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Cock Piercing, Dead of Winter, Death, Desire, Domestic Fluff, Exploration, F/M, Fantasy setting, Feelings Realization, Fighting, First Meetings, First Time, Healing, Loss of Virginity, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Monster Boyfriend, Multiple Sex Positions, Nervousness, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sex, Sharing Body Heat, Slight Physical Contact, Virginity, freezing temperatures, hard work, sharing meals, the truth comes out, too quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: A woman meets an Orc, a relationship begins





	1. Chapter 1

Orcs weren’t common in your tiny village, but you saw them occasionally passing by on the road. It’d be a war party of three or four or five, being loud and scaring the chickens and old women before walking on. Rare times they’d stop and drink all the mead Brond had put aside. Nine times out of ten they paid him in gold, so he didn’t complain too much about it.

The only Orc you saw on a more regular basis was never with a group. He never walked the road either; he came through the forest, carrying meat, furs, and leather to sell or trade. 

You spent a considerable amount of time in the woods foraging and wondered where he lived. He never seemed to follow the same path twice, and despite his size he moved so stealthily through the underbrush that he didn’t leave much evidence of his passing. With his skills, it was no wonder he was a good hunter.

On a recent excursion into the forest, you hummed tunelessly to yourself as you collected the flowers your mother had sent you for. On your hands and knees, you picked the tiny blossoms and put them into your basket. These particular plants only grew where the sun broke through the canopy overhead, so you had to move from spot to spot to find enough. You also made sure to leave enough flowers at each clump so they could continue to propagate in the future. 

Picking your head up, you looked to see where the next patch could be found. It was close enough by that you didn’t want to go through the effort of standing up just to crouch again, so you simply crawled to it. On your way, under a rotting log, you found a few pale, lavendar spotted toadstools.

The toadstools themselves weren’t valuable, but they did herald the location of deeper tubers that had medicinal purpose for nausea, so you grinned to yourself and began digging. The loam of the forest floor was soft, and after only a few minutes you found your prize: dark brown tubers that looked like nothing important. Your mother would be pleased with them. Wiping your hair out of your face, you set them deep in your basket, under the blossoms you’d already collected. 

Adjusting the basket and shrugging your bow back to a more comfortable spot across your shoulders, you continued to the next patch of flowers that had been your original goal. 

There, the process of picking them was automatic. The birdsong that filled the forest was background noise, until suddenly, you realized it was gone. You picked your head up again, suddenly wary, when a loud grunt startled you.

Your first instinct was to duck and stay small. The grunt turned to a bellow, which made you think your decision was the right one, but then you could hear words.

“Fuckin’ no good dirty orc! Gonna be a good day to put you down like the animal you are!”

There was another bellow, followed by the unmistakable sounds of fighting: grunts of pain, weapons clashing, and men--another man, a man who wasn’t the first voice you heard--taunting and shouting encouragement to each other.

“Git ‘im! Git ‘im good!”

“Take that, tusk-face!”

The Orc they were fighting didn’t speak at all. The only noise you heard from the Orc was continued grunts and the occasional growl.

On your hands and knees, you scrambled behind the nearest tree trunk. You wanted no part in a fight. Was the Orc a bandit? Had the men been tracking the Orc, and finally found him? Would you have been attacked, since you hadn’t been paying much attention to your surroundings?

Despite a part of your brain screaming at you to stay still and keep hiding, you couldn’t help carefully peeking around the tree trunk. It wasn’t easy to see everything that was happening, due to the trees, but you caught glimpses of the fight. Two men, swinging swords, dancing forward and back, continuing to taunt the massive Orc caught between them. There was so much movement between the three of them it was hard to tell if any of them had been actually injured yet, or if the Orc had so far managed to hold his own against them.

Flanked, the Orc was trapped between the two men. If he tried to move towards one, the other was on him. If he tried to move backwards in an attempt to keep both of them in his sight, not only did they move with him but the trees hindered him. One of the men rushed forward, swinging his broadsword; the Orc barely had time to block with his mace in a clanging, metal-on-metal cacophony that hurt your ears. 

The move was jarring enough to throw the man off balance. Before the Orc could press his advantage, however, he roared and arched his back in obvious pain, grabbing onto a tree to keep on his feet. An arrow hung loosely in his back, high on his shoulder. The Orc grabbed it and yanked it out. Blood flowed from the wound, making his arm red and slick.

Several things dawned on you as you got your first good look at the Orc: first, there was another man somewhere nearby with a bow, and second, you knew this Orc. It was the hunter who came into your village occasionally. He wasn’t a bandit.

The men were. 

The Orc dropped to his knee with one hand scrabbling down the tree trunk he’d been holding. Your hands went to your mouth to cover your gasp. He looked beaten, his head hanging, his torso heaving with panting breath. The wound from the projectile wasn’t deep or fatal; the arrow must have been poisoned--

One of the swordsmen walked forward, hefting his broadsword to swing.

“Fuckin’ animal,” he spit, while his companion cried out, 

“He’s faking!”

Before the first could process what his comrade had said, the Orc exploded upward, catching him with a large hand by his hide armor high on his chest. His grip and the position of the man’s arms gave him no opportunity to swing his sword. The Orc drove his head into the man’s and instantly the man became a ragdoll. He flopped bonelessly and the Orc dropped him, swinging his mace with a movement that could be described as casual. 

The wet crunching noise as he planted it into the man’s skull made you flinch. 

The other swordsman gave a wail of anger. The Orc spun to face him. He’d opened a small wound on his forehead when he’d headbutted the man, and blood flowed into his eye, but he ignored it. Snarling wordlessly, he rushed to meet the man who’d attacked him.

Faintly, you could hear a zipping noise and realized the person with a bow was still firing arrows. Because of the tree cover and the fact the Orc and swordsman were moving, none of the arrows met their mark, but if they did, it could be a decisive turn against the Orc in the fight. While he was preoccupied with the man before him with the sword, it wouldn’t take much for the bowsman to move around and get a solid shot on him. 

Dragging your eyes away from the noisy, active fight still in front of you, you glanced around to try and locate the person with the bow. In a few moments, you were able to pinpoint about where the arrows seemed to originate from. The archer kept moving, but slowly.

The fight between Orc and man was louder, even if the man had stopped talking. There was the awful sound of metal striking metal, and grunts of exertion. It drew your attention back to it, and you watched the Orc use his superior reach to swing his mace low and shatter the man’s legs. Screaming, the man went down. Before the Orc could deliver a final blow, however, another arrow flew past his ear. He ducked. 

More arrows came, and faster. The archer had stopped walking. Those projectiles were bound to hit their mark soon--

Without consciously realizing what your hands were doing, you’d slipped your own small bow off your back. You dug an arrow from the quiver you’d buried at the bottom of your basket, fitted it on the string, and, taking a deep breath, stepped to the side of the tree trunk that had been giving you cover. 

Praying that you weren’t wrong about where you’d last seen the archer, you pulled back the string and let your arrow loose. 

A man’s voice cried out in sharp pain. 

The arrows stopped. 

You ducked behind the tree again, shaking, clutching your bow so hard your fingers hurt. You should get another arrow ready, you should find the small knife you carried to cut stronger plants--it wasn’t much, it wasn’t sharp, but it was better than nothing--you should have run away when you had the chance! You squeezed your eyes shut and wished you had the money to buy or the skill to make an invisibility potion. As neither of those were true, you stayed as still as possible, like a frightened rabbit. 

The man the Orc took down was still crying in pain. Another crushing, wet sound brought his sobs to a halt. You heard the Orc push through the underbrush and further away, there was the same definitive sound; he must have made sure the archer was dead too. Then you heard him tromping back, coming closer, closer--

When you dared to open your eyes again, the Orc was glaring down at you. His face and upper arm were covered in blood. He was still breathing heavily from the fight, and his grip on his mace was solid. His nostrils flared, and you didn’t think it was from simply catching his breath. The head of the weapon he held dripped blood slowly, and for some reason, that caught your attention and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. It had to hurt to be hit by a mace. You hoped the pain would only be a second’s worth before you died. 

With a huffing breath, the Orc relaxed an iota and wiped his free hand over his face to smear the blood from his eye.

“Thank you,” he said in a deep voice.

You jumped, and cautiously looked up. 

“The archer had steel arrows. Do you want them? They’re higher quality than the iron one you used. He had a dagger too.”

It took a moment to wrap your head around what he was saying. 

“Um, uh, yes, I suppose . . .”

The Orc looked down at you a moment longer. Blood still oozed from the wound on his head. With another huff, he turned and began walking away, back towards the dead men.

As he did, you snapped out of your stupor and scrambled up. 

“Wait, wait!” you called after him.

He paused. 

“You’re hurt,” you said, as if he didn’t know. “Was that arrow that hit you poisoned? Your head hasn’t stopped bleeding.”

“Head wounds bleed a long time,” he replied. “And no, the arrow wasn’t poisoned. It nicked me but it’s not too deep. It was a bad shot.”

“Can I . . .” you started. Like your hands readying your bow, you had no clue what your mouth meant to say. Then you steeled yourself to continue. “Can I help you? I saw you pull it out and make a bigger hole in your shoulder. It’ll be hard to clean it by yourself.”

The Orc gave you an appraising look. He looked over his shoulder and flexed it as if to test how injured he actually was. The movement caused fresh blood to stream from the injury again, and he grudgingly agreed. 

You smiled, a little, at him. “I saw some comfrey growing. I’ll go get it. There’s a stream that way--I will meet you there.”

He grunted what sounded like an agreement and you hurried off to find the plant you’d passed by earlier. You hadn’t thought to collect it; it grew commonly enough that your mother had a good supply of it. The tinture she made would be most helpful, but you knew enough that a quick poultrice would be useful too. Quickly you found and collected the leaves you needed and rushed back.

The Orc was sitting near the stream. He was taking the time to wash his weapon instead of cleaning his wounds. His blood had started to dry and crust on his skin and his tunic, turning to a darker color as it did.

You went to his side and he startled, a deep growl vibrating in his throat while he brought his mace up. You yelped in surprise and held your hands out. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” you babbled. 

His eyes held yours but he relaxed. You noticed he didn’t release the mace even as he rested it on the ground. 

Catching your breath, you told him that you needed to clean the wound on his shoulder, then you could pack it with comfrey. You had spied some lamb’s ear and collected it too; it would make a passable bandage . You held out all the plant material you’d collected for him to see, and with a hesitant nod, he agreed. 

You scooped water from the stream and carefully let it drip over his shoulder. Even though the water was cold, he was stoic. Without a cloth to wipe him, took a bit of time to clean it properly. 

You’d never been this close to an Orc before; to your surprise, what you’d been told wasn’t true. He didn’t smell like an animal, just sweat like any other man. The hair on the sides of his head had been shorn close; the hair he’d left long as a topknot had been woven into a thick plait that hung down his back. His skin was green, but not flat and uniform in color. You saw darker freckling and older wounds that had healed into paler scars on his arms. You wondered if the wound he’d given himself on his forehead would be a pale mark eventually, too. This arrow injury, because he yanked it out so roughly, was going to leave a puckered scar when it filled in. 

Since you were attending his should and were slightly behind him, you could only see a bit of his face. His jaw was heavy and his tusks jutted out like a boar’s, but there was no mistaking it was humanoid too. His tongue was startling pink when he licked his lips. 

You talked as you worked. He didn’t respond much, just huffs and wordless noises. You told him about foraging in the woods, how your mother worried but there was no one else to help her, that you did the best you could for the two of you--

“What of your father?” he asked, interrupting your talk.

You shrugged, even though he didn’t see it. “He’s dead. Been gone a long time, before I could really help out around the house. I can barely remember him. Neither my mother or father’s kin live nearby. Everyone moves to a larger village or town than stay in the village, so we’re on our own.”

He didn’t reply to that. 

The wound was finally clean. It was jagged and the edges of his skin were white, but it continued to ooze slowly. That was a good sign, you told him. Quickly you chewed the comfrey leaves to mush and packed the hole with them, then used the soft lamb’s ears’ leaves to cover it. It would do until he could tend to it properly. 

The Orc let you gently wash his face too, with a remaining lamb’s ear. You tried hard--and were successful, you thought--to not stare at his tusks. His eyes were dark and watched you intently. 

The minor cut he’d opened on his forehead that finally stopped bleeding by the time you’d finished cleaning it. 

Nursing care complete, you pressed a clump of unused comfrey leaves into his hand and told him to apply another poultice later, once the first had dried. Bandaging his shoulder properly would help it heal faster too. 

He escorted you back passed the three dead men, to where you’d left your basket. Collecting it, you turned to pick your way back home. Something occurred to you, however, and you stopped. 

“I didn’t learn your name,” you said.

The Orc considered you a moment longer, then replied in a low voice tinged with pride. “I am Grar, of Clan Dushnikh. My Clan is prosperous and fierce and blessed by the hand of Malacath. Our stronghold lies to the south and west of here.”

His answer seemed rather ceremonious and formal. You smiled at the stiffness of it and tossed him your name and where you lived lightly, without the pomp, then left him to head home.

_tbc . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, you were chopping wood in the small clearing near the hut you shared with your mother. She sat outside the door, carding wool.

“Someone’s coming, dear,” your mother said. 

You’d been making a lot of noise with the axe and hadn’t heard anyone approach. As you paused, breathing heavily, Grar the Orc walked into the clearing. He stopped and considered something when he saw your mother, who had paused in her work, but then addressed you directly.

“You forgot the steel arrows. And the dagger too. I sharpened the blade.”

Your mother cocked her head. You hadn’t told her of what transpired in the forest; you knew it would worry her to no end. Grar didn’t know that, of course, and answered for you.

“Your daughter assisted me. I was scouting deer trails for the fall’s hunting season when I was ambushed by some rogues. Without her help, I would be hard pressed to be here today. Not only did she make a critical shot with her bow, she tended my wounds.”

“This is news,” your mother replied. “I hadn’t been told of such an incident in the woods.”

You wanted the earth to swallow you up, but your mother continued before you could explain yourself.

“Are your injuries healing well?” she asked, and Grar told her they were. Your mother nodded. “I would expect nothing less. Her healing skills are developing well.”

“I’m still learning,” you muttered, embarrassed at the praise. “Mother, this is Grar.”

The two greeted each other. Grar handed the weapons to you, and you stood awkwardly with them, not sure what to say or do now.

“I also brought a fresh rabbit I snared on the way here,” Grar told you, taking it from the satchel at his side. 

Juggling everything in your hands to take the game, you took it over and presented it to your mother. 

“A heavy rabbit!” she exclaimed. “I’ll clean it and we’ll have it for dinner. Will you stay, Grar?”

The Orc declined. Clucking her tongue but not arguing, your mother set aside her wool and went inside to fetch a knife to clean the game. 

Although you weren’t upset to take a quick break, you still felt awkward. Grar looked over the tree you’d felled and the progress you’d made chopping it up. Although he didn’t ask, you felt the need to explain why you were doing a job that was typically reserved for men. 

“I told you my father died. And we don’t have the money to just pay someone to chop firewood. I do it any chance I get so we have enough to last through the winter.”

Grar didn’t respond. He gave no nod or words of understanding. He simply continued to take in everything around your small hut. Before the silence stretched to the point of extreme uncomfortableness, your mother was in the doorway again with a loaf of bread in her hands.

“Grar, please accept this loaf. You won’t stay for dinner, but I’m sure you’ll have another rabbit for your own meal. This will go well with it.”

Grar went to your mother. He towered over her, just as he did you, and held out his hand. When your mother didn’t set the gift in his palm, he glanced back over his shoulder to you. The look of puzzlement on his face made you smile; you’d never expect to see an expression like that on his features. You gave him a nod.

Carefully, he plucked the bread out of your mother’s hands. She smiled and nodded, and went back inside. 

Grar made his way back over to you. 

“My mother’s blind,” you told him. 

“I wondered why she didn’t recoil when I came near.”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t recoil when I met you either.”

He considered this a long moment. “No, you didn’t.”

He hesitated as if there was something more he wanted to say, but instead he dipped his head and walked away, leaving you with a handful of arrows in one hand and a dagger in the other, watching him go. 

⁂

Chopping wood was not your favorite chore, although you did it when you had time. Winters could be unpredictable, and having enough fuel stored for the fire was vital. Still, you had other tasks including taking in laundry occasionally, and foraging, and keeping the hut neat, and helping your mother when people came to visit for medicinal reasons, and cooking, and tending the chickens, and agreeing to lend a hand milking some of the communally owned cows, and, and, and–-

So when Grar appeared again out of the woods over a week later, the same felled tree was laying there. You’d made a little more progress, but not much. 

His knock was firm on the thin door of the hut. Your mother had been expecting a neighbor who had been battling a cough, so when you opened the door you were surprised to see him standing there. 

“Oh!” you said. The hand not holding the door jumped to the dagger in your belt. 

Grar noted your involuntary movement. His dark eyes were unreadable, but you thought you saw a smile of amusement twitch the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re carrying the dagger. That’s good,” he said, by way of greeting. 

You released it and gave a strangled laugh. “It’s a good knife.”

“It’s a passable blade,” he corrected.

“Well, it’s better than anything I could afford. Are you here because you’re having problems with your shoulder? Here we actually have yarrow, which will be better than the comfrey. Will you come in?”

Grar glanced through your small hut. It wasn’t much, you knew. Dirt floor, fire pit in the middle for warmth and cooking, two piles of straw and fur for beds, your mother’s shelf of various herbs and other necessities for her minor healing work. There were two chairs; one for your mother and one for guests. You stepped aside to allow him entry. 

“Come in!” your mother agreed, waving him in. “My daughter is correct, yarrow will fix you up.”

But the Orc shook his head. “My shoulder is fine. I’ve come to help chop firewood. And fell another tree or two, if you’d like.”

“What?” you asked, while your mother seemed to process his offer more quickly. 

“That would be most appreciated,” she told him, then shooed you outside. 

So, unexpected as it was, you found yourself chopping the tree into manageable pieces with Grar’s assistance. Luckily he’d brought his own axe; if he had had to use yours, making you stand by and watch, you’d have felt even worse about this unexpected generosity. The work was arduous enough that the two of you didn’t talk much. 

The day was hot. Grar had unloaded his weapons–two daggers, a bow, and a quiverful of arrows, but no mace, today–into a neat pile out of the way of the work but close by. Eventually he also stripped out of his tunic. You wished it was proper for you to strip down too; this was hard work. With two people, however, the process went quickly. In a shorter time than you could have imagined, the wood was chopped.

Your mother appeared at the door of the hut with a bucket. Picking up logs and stacking them, you ignored her, but Grar watched her take hold of a rope that had been nailed just outside the door and use it to guide herself around a corner, out of sight. 

“Where is she going?”

To see what he was indicating, you wiped your face with the hem of your dress. You’d been told it was unladylike, but you were sweaty and didn’t care. 

“To the stream. The rope follows the path.”

If he thought this was clever or not, he didn’t say. He sized up the trees in the area. “Let’s take down another one and start splitting it too. Even if we don’t finish it today, we can make a good start on it. I can return again and help finish with them.”

With that, he walked into the surrounding forest just passed the tree line, his large hands touching this tree trunk and that to determine which should come down. 

You bit your lip as you watched him.

“I can’t pay you,” you blurted loudly.

Grar paused but didn’t look back over his shoulder at you to reply, “I don’t need coin.”

His answer seemed clear, but by specifying money you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else he expected as payment. He didn’t expound, however. He simply chose a tree and began calculations as to what would be the best way to have it come down. With a turmoil of questions in your mind, you tamped them down and went to help him.

The Orc didn’t take down one tree, but two. You made short work of chopping the branches off into manageable sizes, but the trunk of the trees themselves would have to wait for another day.

At some point your mother had returned from the stream. During a break that you thought you needed more than Grar did, she called from the hut to come get something to drink. She’d been busy inside while you’d been out; not only was there ginger water but also a few roast squirrels on the spit that were crispy on the outside and dripping puddings that she’d put together to catch the fat underneath the meat.

Once again Grar declined eating with you but this time your mother insisted. You led him to the stream to wash a little, following the path your mother had taken. Then three of you sat outside and ate the meal. At first you consciously tried to avert your eyes from the Orc’s tusks as he ate, worried that it would be like watching an uncivilized animal eat, but once again what you’d been told was wrong. He ate like any other man, and even more refined than some you’d seen at your small villages festivals. Soon it wasn’t anything you paid attention to. 

Grar thanked your mother mostly for the bread; he told her before the loaf she’d given him at his last visit he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had it. Not since he’d left his Clan, at least. 

Your mother beamed and told him you’d made it, and if he wanted another he was welcome to it. 

There was some talk of not having kin in the area and the struggle that could come with it. Grar mentioned his hunting and trapping; your mother talked about her minor healing skills and how you were ‘coming along’. It was the most talkative you’d heard him. It was comfortable. 

Before you knew it, enough time had passed that Grar said he should be going. He stood up and you stood too, taking his wooden plate. Your mother held her hand out for it and you passed it to her. She disappeared into the hut again. 

For the moment, it was just the two of you again. 

“The furs you have are old. They can’t be too warm,” Grar said, nodding towards the inside of the structure. 

“They are old,” you had to admit. “But luckily our house is small, so the fire keeps it warm. And I know where I can collect fresh grasses for better insulation, before the weather gets colder.”

Grar considered this, looking directly at you. It was a bit unnerving. He didn’t have the same body language as humans; no nods of understanding or shrugs or anything of a non-verbal nature that you were familiar with. Finally he huffed-–something you’d puzzled out meant a sort of acceptance–-pulled on his shirt, and found his axe and weapons again before starting off.

You remembered the bread your mother had promised. “Wait! Grar!” you called.

As he paused, you rushed back into the hut, grabbed the nearest loaf and a bit of scrap cloth to wrap it in. It wasn’t anything your mother would miss; just an old square of fabric from a dress that no longer fit you that she would have used for bandages. You it around the loaf and tied a knot to secure it while you hurried back outside. 

Grar was waiting. 

“Here,” you told him, handing him the package. 

He accepted it with the same direct stare but with a dip of his head too.

For some reason that made you grin like a fool, and you wished him safe travel as he finally walked away with his axe on his shoulder. 

_tbc …_


	3. Chapter 3

When he returned, he carried not only his axe, but a rolled bundle of fur. 

“This is better quality than what you have now,” he told you without bragging. 

You were getting used to his straightforward manner, but protested the gift. He refused to take back the heavy elk hide, however, and eventually you thanked him for it. 

You spent another day of hard labor chopping wood. For a meal your mother also asked if you would check the fish traps; Grar accompanied you to the stream again as you harvested the trout that had swum into the wooden traps but couldn’t get back out. 

As you killed and cleaned them on the rocks streamside he asked if you ever had salmon in this stream. You told him no, it wasn’t one that salmon ran, but there was a pond a little further away with bass and mudcrabs. He told you there was a river near his cabin where he had seen bears take salmon, although he wasn’t much of a fisherman. You nodded, thinking it might be nice to have some of the fatty fish occasionally.

Your mother wrapped the fish with herbs and cooked them while you and the Orc stacked the logs. The amount you’d chopped exceeded what you’d usually set aside by this time of year, and you thanked him. Having so much so early would give the wood time to dry, which meant it would burn longer and produce less smoke in the colder months. 

Once again you shared a pleasant meal. 

At the end, as he collected his things to go, he mentioned that he was expanding the firepit he had in his cabin. Although it was functional, like what you and your mother had, he decided to make it a real fireplace with a chimney and hearth. He’d already collected the stones for the chimney, but if you’d like to see the slate he was considering for the interior of the cabin, he wouldn’t mind showing you.

Thinking that if you could help him collect the slate it would be a nice way to help repay him for what he’d done for you and your mother, you agreed. 

Another twitch that could possibly be the beginning of a smile danced around his lips. He gave you a real nod this time, and was gone again.

You watched until he was out of sight, when your mother shuffled up beside you.

“He’s very nice,” she commented. 

“Yes. I don’t want him to neglect his own work, though,” you fretted. “It’s getting later in the year and he should be focusing on making sure his traps are ready and he has enough supplies for hunting.”

“I’m sure he’s taking all that into consideration,” your mother replied. You murmured your continued concern, and she went on, “Orcs can be temperamental, which is why so many choose a warrior’s path, but they also have a strong work ethic too. No lazing about.”

Your thoughts were on him for a moment more, before your mother’s words made an impression. 

“You knew he was an Orc?”

“Of course!” she chided slightly, with a smile. “Well, I can’t tell if he is full-blooded or half-Orc. He mentioned his Clan. And his hands are so large, plus when he speaks I can tell he is so tall compared to us! He also has a very faint lisp. He has tusks, doesn’t he?”

You shouldn’t underestimate your mother’s observational skills. “Yes, he does.” Then you paused, and told her, “He’s full Orc.”

“Ah,” your mother said, nodding. She took your hand. “Then I am sure he isn’t forgoing whatever it is he needs to do for the season’s hunting, no matter how much time he spends with you.”

Your eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. Your mother couldn’t see the expression, but you were sure she could hear your confusion when you asked, “What do you mean by that?”

She laughed, but not unkindly. “He’s courting you, silly!”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Courting me?!” you croaked. 

“Yes, of course he is.”

You tried to make everything you just heard fit into your world. It didn’t make sense, and you said so. You told her that he was just helpful; that he was generous; that he thought he owed you since you shot the archer when he was being attacked; that he was friendly, or lonely; that what she said couldn’t be true--

“Don’t you think what he’s done eclipses the assistance you gave him?” your mother asked quietly. “And people from the village know our situation. When was the last time any man volunteered to lend a hand with the work that needs done?”

With that, she squeezed your hand and left you again, still staring at the forest Grar had disappeared into, a whirlwind of thoughts and questions in your head. You couldn’t deny the warm feeling that blossomed in your belly, however, when you thought about him. 

⁂

Mid-summer, when you hadn’t seen Grar for several weeks, you decided that you would try and find the river he told you about, with the salmon. Bidding your mother farewell, telling her you hoped to be back before nightfall, you took some bread and berries, your bow and the dagger Grar had sharpened for you, and set off. You only had a general idea where Grar’s cabin may be, but if the stream near your hut branched off from a larger river, that may be the exact one he was talking about. 

The wilderness was unbroken, and you realized you were heading uphill. That was fine; you didn’t expect the land to be flat and covered in the same forest you’d lived your life. It was nice to have some elevation when the trees weren’t so thick, and you could see the surrounding area. As a matter of fact, you found a sturdy tree to climb to survey everything. 

Making sure to hold tightly, you could see the smoke from the fires in your village, although the structures themselves weren’t visible. Turning, you saw that the hill became part of a larger chain, and further away, they became mountains. You also caught sight of a river--the river, you hoped!--and mapped where it was so you could head than direction after you ascended. 

After the bandit attack you witnessed, you tried to keep more aware of your surroundings. You tried to be quiet. You tried to keep an eye out for any plants that could be helpful to your mother. You only carried a satchel today, over your back; it wasn’t large but could hold a squirrel or two if you were quick enough to shoot them or handfuls of different plants if needed. 

You heard the river before you saw it. It was louder than your stream; you’d seen that it had boulders in it and if the waters came from higher up it could be fast. You were still cautious, because wild animals would use it too and you had no desire to startle a bear or sabre cat.

Luckily the way to the river was relatively even; although it continued slightly uphill and you did have to skirt boulders and climb occasional crags of rock, you didn’t have to climb. It seemed like there was a flatter bit of land up ahead. That was your goal, although you had to watch you where you put your feet to not slip in the gravel. 

With your head down, you caught sight of movement out of the corner of your eye. 

Automatically you stepped behind the boulder you had one hand on for balance, breaking the direct line of sight between you and whatever you’d seen. You also froze and listened hard to try and determine what it was. 

The sound of the tumbling water was too much to hear anything. Carefully, carefully, you crouched down and peeped around the rock. 

It was Grar. You saw a natural pool had formed to the side of the swifter water, and it looked as though he’d dammed some of it up for depth and ease of access. He was nude, crouched to scoop water to drink. You could see the scar where the arrow had pierced his shoulder, as well as other minor scars down his back to his buttocks. His clothes and weapons were piled neatly far enough away they didn’t get splashed. 

As you spied on him, he loosened his hair out of its plait and shook it free. Then, without testing the temperature or easing into it, he stepped into the pool. 

You had no way of knowing how deep it was, or if he simply submerged himself, but he was out of sight the next moment. You blinked and waited. You had no idea Orcs could swim, and had always been told they had an aversion to water. Like so many other things you’d learned, this was another lie. Your thoughts then moved to wondering how long an Orc could stay underwater--

Grar stood up. His gasp for air and the fact you could see gooseflesh erupt all over his skin told how cold the water happened to be. The Orc rubbed his upper arms and chest vigorously. He grabbed a cloth you hadn’t noticed from the bank of the pool and washed. It dawned on you recognized the fabric; it was the same you’d wrapped a loaf of bread for him. Your old dress! Then he climbed back out of the pool, streaming water as he went. 

You knew he was large; Orcs towered over men and were broader and heavier too. But seeing him naked made your heart catch in your throat. The cold water made his skin color bright. His chest and waist were wide, but proportionate. His hair, looking flat black after being drenched plastered to his neck and shoulders, was in stark contrast to the color of his body. There was no hair on his chest. A thin line of it marked the way from his navel to his pubic area, where it became fuller at the base of his cock. 

You didn’t mean to look, but your eyes didn’t listen to your manners. His cock was darker colored and thick. It should surprise you, it should scare you, but it didn’t; instead, that warm sensation you felt in your gut when he was around flared. Your thoughts took a naughty turn, an unladylike turn, and your cheeks burned too. 

Grar had another cloth to dry himself with, which he did, squeezing the water from his hair. You watched him in secret a while longer. He used a blade to shave the sides of his head, and didn’t immediately re-braid it. It was the first time you’d seen it flowing down his back. Part of you wanted to call out to him, but another part reminded you that you were spying and rude, no matter how aroused you were.

Finally, you quietly crept away. 

You told your mother you didn’t have any luck, but maybe you’d try again another day. She couldn’t see how flushed your face remained. 

_tbc . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

Grar finally escorted you to his cabin, to show you the progress he’d made on the fireplace. Leading you there, you passed close by the pool you’d seen him in; you blushed at the memory but the Orc seemed to think the color that rose in your cheeks was due to the blowing wind. 

His cabin was slightly further up the hillside from the pool, on more level ground. He’d left a few trees in the immediate area, although you could see where he’d cut many down to provide space and have the working material for his home. It was one room, like your hut, but unlike it, the walls and the floor inside were solid wood. 

Overhead, the beams supporting the roof were strung with various pieces of meat, drying, as well as a few clusters of garlic and onions. Grar mentioned he didn’t keep much of a garden, but he’d cleared enough of the trees that there was an area for one to the side of the cabin. He’d created storage space near the interior of the roof by laying planks from beam to beam, and he told you he could build crates or barrels to hold flour and other necessities. A rough-hewn table and chairs--two of them--were against a wall near the new fireplace, and on the opposite wall was his bed.

The bed was piled high with furs. It having an actual frame surprised you, although the size did not. He was an Orc after all, and needed the room.

He’d finished the chimney but there was still some work to be done on the hearth; the plank floor had been cut, leaving dirt, but he hadn’t laid the slate for extra protection from stray sparks. He promised he would have it done before winter actually set in. 

You ran your hand over the wrought iron cooking spit. As you admired it, Grar said he’d gone back to his stronghold and had it made by a smith there; it was strong and heavy and would be functional a long time. You nodded.

Outside, he also showed you a small spring in the rocks that he’d found, so he didn’t have to go to the river everyday for water. He had built two additional outbuildings; one for storing furs, with a tanning rack outside it, and a smokehouse. There was room for chickens too, he said, if they were wanted. Looking back down the hillside, you couldn’t see any indication of your village, or of any other habitats. It was peaceful here, although you imagined when the snows came it could be lonely. 

His own supply of firewood was stacked against one outer wall, and a teetering stack of dark grey slate was piled against another. You asked if you could help him lay it in the space he’d created for it. His brow furrowed and he hesitated, mentioning it wasn’t women’s work. 

“Neither is chopping firewood,” you reminded him. “It’s just work that needs done.”

With a short noise that sounded like a laugh, he had to agree. 

So you spent the rest of the afternoon fitting the irregular pieces of stone into position on the floor. It was fiddly work. Some were thicker or thinner than others and dirt had to be removed or added to make a level surface, and trying to puzzle them into place took time. Several hours later, however, a large majority of it was complete. Grar told you he would finish it and tamp it down so they wouldn’t come loose.

Standing up and wiping your dusty hands on your skirt, you scrutinized the progress you and he had made. Even not completely finished it looked nice, and a fire would heat the stones, keeping the cabin warmer, you told him.

When he didn’t reply, you turned to find him looking at you with an expression you couldn’t catagorize instead of his new hearth. Your breath caught in your throat, and it was on the tip of your tongue to ask him what he was thinking, but before you did, he told you he’d take you to the river so you could wash off before you returned home.

With that he lead you back down the hillside. You stopped at the pool and discovered that the water was slightly warmer than you expected. You imagined it would be ice cold earlier in the year, when the waters were fed by melting snow. Crouched and dipping your hands in it, it struck you that this was exactly how you’d seen him that day, and you hurriedly splashed some water on your face to cover the redness in your cheeks. 

Grar visited on a semi-regular basis as the seasons changed and late summer didn’t know if it should be autumn. No matter what your mother said, however, he never officially stated his intentions. You never admitted you’d seen him nude, although the thought of him in that state was never far from your mind’s eye. When it was difficult to think about anything else, you decided to steel yourself and be more Orcish. The next time he came round, and you had a moment of privacy walking to the stream, you confronted him.

“Are you pursuing me?”

“Pursuing you?” he asked in return. “This is the easiest hunt I’ve ever been on, if that was the case.”

Any jokes or teases from him, you’d learned, were dry. You weren’t put off, however. 

“Are you courting me?”

Your insistence sobered him. While looking directly at you, Grar admitted the truth. 

“I am.”

The butterflies in your stomach lurched and you felt instantly flushed. In your stunned, exhilarated silence, he continued,

“Or I would be, if . . .”

The immediate sweet feeling you’d gotten became nausea. That was even harder to process, and your tongue was dry as you forced yourself to ask, “If what?”

He hesitated, collecting his thoughts, and the wait was borderline intolerable. 

Finally, he said, “I am not familiar with many human customs. If you were Orc, even from another Clan, there would be no doubt as to what I was doing, and I would be much more aggressive. You would expect me to be more aggressive! But I fear that it is the wrong approach with humans. I would seek out your father, for permission, but he is gone and I am unsure what else I may do . . .”

Your breath came quicker and you struggled to bring your emotions back under control. If Grar was unsure about what would be proper, you needed to take the next step to show him. You hadn’t had much physical contact with him, but were compelled to step closer. He smelled of leather and smoke, and an underlying hint of sweat. You realized you liked it. Although you weren’t sure if what you were doing was appropriate for a man, let alone an Orc, you carefully put a hand on his chest. It was solid and warm, even through his shirt. He looked down on you, and although it was unnoticeable visually, you could feel a slight tremble in him.

“A man might have kissed me, by now,” you whispered. 

His voice dropped too. “Orcs don’t kiss.”

“They don’t?”

“No,” Grar said, and brought a hand up to indicate his tusks. 

“Oh,” you replied. You didn’t move away. “Then, I guess . . . I’ll have to kiss you--”

The hand that rested on his chest went over his shoulder, and you pulled him downward to your level. His nostrils flared and his eyes were bright with concern but he was malleable. You tilted your head and kissed him gently on the jaw. You felt it tighten under the caress of your lips, as if he was gritting his teeth, but you did it again before releasing him.

His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with deeper breaths. When he opened his eyes again, they were dark with arousal, and he finally took your waist. Feeling giddy, you laughed.

“Let me show you what Orc do instead of kiss,” Grar said in a low rumble.

You agreed eagerly.

Leaning close so that if he put all his weight forward you would topple and be trapped under him, Grar carefully nuzzled into your hair. He breathed deeply, which tickled your ear, then drew his face downward against you. You felt his heavy jaw and tusks against your hair and down to the tender skin of your neck. After he reached your shoulder, he repeated the movement.

It occurred to you that downward was gentle, while if he gave an upward motion, his tusks could gouge and rip. You could understand the amount of trust it took to allow an Orc to put their tusks on you.

Your arm that wasn’t trapped between the two of you came up and around to hold his head close before he could step away. The two of you stood in the embrace for a moment. You thought your heart might burst from happiness. 

The next time he saw you, Grar presented a small black knife to you. His hand dwarfed it; it was even small enough to be hidden in your hand. If you turned it just the right way, flashes of faint blue could be seen deep in the decorative runes etched into the blade. It was exquisitely sharp, and came with a thin leather sheath and a cord to wear it around your neck. Grar told you it was an honor blade, his troth to you as his intention to be your husband. 

With the agreement between the two of you set, he accompanied you into the forest while you foraged, and although he didn’t help with actual collection of plants, he made sure you were safe as you did. He did agree to help harvest apples, and together you brought home two bushels to store. 

On a few occasions you walked the village road with him. Your neighbors were respectful, although you could feel their eyes on your back as you passed them. You knew you were a source of gossip, but were surprised to realize you didn’t care. It was better to be with him than to worry about what they thought. 

Grar told you that it was traditional for Orcs to announce their betrothals during the large Clan gathering after the spring thaw. That gave you plenty of time to decide whether or not you’d take him as a husband, he told you; after all, he’d not proven himself as a good provider yet!

You disagreed with that assessment, but if his expectations were to have an excellent hunting season to show you his worth, that was fine. You didn’t know what you were going to do about your mother’s living situation anyway, if you moved to Grar’s cabin further away.

Fall finally became true winter. The season meant Grar was busy with hunting and trapping and didn’t visit regularly. Each time you brought in armfuls of the wood you and he had chopped to keep the fire blazing, you were reminded of him. Missing him left an ache inside you, but you had little time to dwell on it while helping your mother prepare tisanes and salves for people who caught cold or other illnesses. 

Then the unthinkable happened. 

Two months after you’d last seen him, in the deepest part of winter, Grar knocked on the door to your hut. 

He was covered head to toe with heavy furs for protection from the weather. You held the door open widely for him to come in, and for the first time, he entered your hut. The space seemed smaller and more cramped with him in it. Because he took up so much room, he didn’t take off much of his outerwear.

“I wanted to make sure you still had enough firewood,” he said. “The snows have been worse this year than last.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, with a slight smile. 

He blinked, and smiled in return. “I also brought some venison. I know you put aside food, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t hungry.”

“Providing for me?” you teased a little. 

Grar wasn’t offended. “Yes. To prove myself to you. You and your mother.”

For the first time since ducking through the door, he looked over the interior of the hut instead of looking at you. 

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

“She . . . she . . .” you started, before the words caught in your throat. It took you several moments before you could choke out the rest. “She passed away. She got sick, and it took her quickly.”

You weren’t familiar with Orc traditions and thoughts on death, but it didn’t surprise you Grar didn’t offer the standard condolences that you’d become tired of from the people in the village. They’d helped bury her and pile stones atop her grave as any neighbors would. They told you she would be missed. But you knew it was more her healing arts that would be, not the woman herself. Once the formalities were done, you were alone in a tiny hut in the middle of winter. 

Instead of telling you any of the inane things people felt compelled to repeat, he simply gazed around the room again. His eyes fell on her herbs and bottles, and a mostly finished woolen blanket she had been working on.

“How much can you carry?” he asked.

Your brow furrowed. “I don’t understand?”

Patiently, he said, “How much can you carry, or should I take it all? Your dresses, any supplies, food, everything you need--”

“Grar?” you asked, still confused. 

“--to come live with me,” he concluded. “I am ready for you. Are you ready for me?”

It was sudden, moving in with him. Wasn’t it? You hadn’t given a final answer as to whether or not you’d accept him as a husband. But you had nothing holding you here. You were just a woman living without kin in a tiny village. Grar at least wanted you with him. 

“There isn’t much,” you finally said. “I can carry most of it.”

The Orc’s expression softened. “It’s a man’s work, carrying a load through the snow.”

“It’s just work,” you disagreed lightly, with a faint smile. 

Grar actually laughed at your answer. You gathered what you thought was essential and bundled up. He tamped out the fire, and led the way through the snow through the forest you were familiar with, up the hillside, away from the village and everything you had known, to take you to his cabin.

_tbc . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

The trek up to Grar’s cabin was difficult. Not only was the weather harsh with the biting cold and a wind that cut through you, the snow was deep as well. Grar followed his own tracks back, which broke and widened the drifts more, but you still struggled slowly after him. But even bundled against the elements, your feet were frozen and each breath was ice in your lungs. 

In the summer it had taken half a day to walk to the Orc’s cabin. In the dead of winter, it took at least twice as long, leaving the two of you walking in the dark. You weren’t sure how many hours had passed because once the sun set, clouds covered the moon. Although you wanted to rest, you knew it was better to keep moving. You simply trudged along the trail made for you, putting one foot after another mechanically. Your mind felt dull.

Grar noticed your lagging. He saved his breath by not saying anything, but slowed his pace for you. Once you’d managed to catch up to him, he shouldered the pack you’d been carrying without a word. 

You’d have protested if you weren’t so tired. 

Finally, finally, the two of you made it to his home in the clearing. It was still and quiet, and in a low voice Grar told you he would hurry ahead to stoke the fire he’d dampened before he had made his trip to see you. While you slowly followed him, it began to snow.

It was a roaring blaze by the time you managed to make it through the door. 

With nimble fingers, Grar helped you out of your heavy furs. You could barely help him; your own hands were stiff from the cold. You couldn’t understand how he, just as cold as you were, could have such dexterity so quickly. You wanted to ask, but your tongue felt thick and it was difficult for you to put thoughts into words.

Leaving the furs piled just inside the door for a moment, Grar led you to the fire. The warmth made your skin feel prickly and you shivered as you sat in the chair he offered. 

“Rub your arms,” he instructed. “Take off your boots too. Although your feet feel warm now, the sweat won’t help your body temperature. In a bit I’ll give you something warm to drink.”

He didn’t say what it was, but swung the pot on the wrought iron cooking arm over the fire. Then he left you to shake out and hang the furs so they would dry. 

You knew to do everything he had said, but it was nice to have the reminder, since you felt slow. Holding your hands out to the fire, they quickly became warm enough that you could bend your fingers more easily. Then you worked your boots off. A cry of surprise and delight slipped out of your mouth as the soles of your feet hit the slate hearth; the stones had retained some warmth from an earlier fire. It seemed like the best idea in the world to get out of the chair and curl up on the stones to soak up as much heat as possible, so you did. 

You heard Grar shuffle back over to you, and his dry chuckle came from high above.

“Did I invite a woman or a cat to my home?” he asked. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to make an off color comment containing the word pussy, but you’d come to your sense enough not to. Even if he meant to be your future husband, you hadn’t been intimate with him like that. Instead, you sat up and smiled sleepily at him. 

He draped the unfinished woolen blanket you’d brought from your hut around you. It had been folded and kept dry, so in very little time you were even warmer than just sitting by the fire. Side-stepping you, Grar stirred whatever was in the pot. Steam rose from it, but he didn’t seem to think it was ready, so he sat in the vacated chair.

The trek here wore you out and the warmth only exacerbated it, and sleep crept up on you so subtly that it wasn’t until some time after sunrise that you opened your eyes again. 

At first you didn’t know where you were. The timber roof you saw above you was unfamiliar, the bedding rustled underneath you and the piles of furs atop you were heavy. This wasn’t home--

Turning over in a near panic, you caught sight of Grar and it all came back to you.

“You’re awake,” the Orc said with a faint rumble in his voice. 

Clutching the furs, you realized that you were in his bed and that the woolen blanket was between you and the hides. Keeping hold of it, you sat up.

“You’ve slept half the day,” Grar told you. 

You couldn’t fathom the time. Typically you were up with the dawn, but everything that had transpired recently threw you off. Groggily you apologized, to which he shook his head. 

“The hike in the middle of winter exhausted you. I didn’t realize how hard I pushed you until you fell asleep sitting up, leaning against my leg. Do you want something to eat?”

Despite not remembering much after sitting on the floor in front of the fire, despite not recalling how you ended up in his bed, despite not knowing if anything physically had happened between the two of you, despite the flash of embarrassment that you fell asleep against his leg, you were suddenly ravenous. 

“Yes please!” you agreed. A stomach growl punctuated it. 

Grar grunted a chuckle and went to the cooking pot. He ladled a cupful of dark liquid into a wooden bowl for you. You took it carefully; it was piping hot even though the pot hadn’t been hanging directly over the fire. Thick and rich, it was a simple stew that filled you up once it was cool enough to eat. 

For a bit, while you ate, it was awkward making conversation. Grar told you that the snow hadn’t stopped falling and that it was lucky the two of you had made it here before the blizzard actually hit. If it had caught you, you’d have had to stay in temporary shelter until it was safe to travel again. He’d have done his best to keep you warm and safe, but it was better that you’d both made it to his cabin. 

You heard some things he left unsaid, namely, that keeping warm and safe meant huddling together during the storm.

“It’s plenty warm, and I feel safe here,” you told him. 

It wasn’t a lie, but the Orc seemed to think you needed reassurance. He held your eyes and said, “I didn’t share the bed with you. Nothing untoward happened between us last night.”

“Oh, I--”

“I am not sure the customs of human men, but within the Clans, a woman initiates and allows a man to share a common bed. Any Orc who attempts to force an unwilling woman is honorless filth. Castration by way of the woman’s teeth is not unheard of. You have nothing to fear from me.”

You hadn’t expected a sudden lecture on Orcish ways, but it did give you some piece of mind. 

It didn’t take long to settle into his cabin, because you hadn’t brought everything from your mother’s hut with you. Maybe, after the snows had melted a little, you could trek back down for more, but you weren’t positive anything would remain after the people in the village realized you were gone, or if bandits wandered by and found it uninhabited.

Still, it was odd at first, living in Grar’s cabin. He wasn’t used to company and you weren’t used to living with anyone but your mother. You cleaned and took over the cooking to be useful, and got creative with the limited supply of ingredients at hand. You vowed silently to have that garden next year even if you had to break the ground for it yourself. Because there wasn’t much variety, you foraged through the snows for anything to give a different flavor to the meat and to stretch the food you did have. 

Grar still left to check his trap lines and hunt. That meant empty hours, some times days, alone. You did what you could to keep busy, but there was only so much to do in the small cabin without the things you were used to having--an adequate supply of wool, for example--so eventually you ended up in one of the small huts that he’d built.

One was storage for furs, the other a smokehouse. Grar had explained that he only smoked meat when the winds blew away from the other structure; he wanted to keep the furs as clean and scent-free as possible until they could be sold. While he was gone, you tended the slow burning fires just as he had.

He returned one afternoon and was surprised to find you stoking the fire in the smokehouse. You hurried to explain that you did as he directed, and had made sure that the wind was blowing theright direction before starting the fire. The Orc humphed his approval and made his way to the other building to hang the animals he’d taken.

Jumping from one of his footprints in the snow to another, you followed him. He was in the process of skinning a fox when you made it.

“It’s cold. You should go inside,” he told you.

“I’ve been by the fire. You’ve been tromping around all day. I think you should go in and warm up. I can skin these for you.”

Grar paused. He half turned to appraise you; you worked hard not to shiver. You expected him to tell you no, he wasn’t going to allow you to help with the hides, but he gave the same snort. His breath was white smoke around his face.

Practically squealing with glee that he didn’t decline the help, you went to work on the few rabbits he’d brought home. Skinning them was easy, and it would be nice to have fresh meat instead of preserved for dinner. 

The two of you worked in silence as dusk came and the temperature dropped. Eventually it was cold enough that Grar did send you away while he finished. You took two rabbits and trudged back inside. You made sure there was enough wood indoors to last through the night so he wouldn’t have to bring it in, and you set a pot filled with snow near the fire to melt and warm up to wash with later. Cooking the meat didn’t take long, and you’d made a small loaf of unleavened bread earlier in the day.

By the time Grar finally made it in, it was full dark. You helped him out of his heavy outerwear and pressed a warm bowl of food into his hands as he sat down. 

It became customary, especially if he had been gone for more than a day, that during evening meals he told you about what he’d seen walking through the winter landscape. You asked about Orcish traditions, just to learn more, and discussed the differences between them and what you had been taught. You also were able to surprise him occasionally with something new that you’d foraged--you’d found a crabapple tree that still had fruit hanging, and by watching the squirrels you were able to find handfuls of beechnuts that they had cached away. There had even been some juniper berries that you paired with some of the stronger meat, and black walnuts that stained your hands for weeks. You didn’t care, however; they were good to eat and you stored the husks to use as an antiseptic later. 

Sometimes he loosened his hair, and with his instruction you learned how to plait it in the traditional Orcish pattern. Occasionally you did the same with your hair, although the texture of yours wasn’t the same and it always ended up looking less tidy than his.

You also always made sure to have a pot of warmed water available. With no tallow, you couldn’t make soap, but you were able to find soapwart to use as a passable cleaning agent. Grar took the time to clean himself while you tidied up from dinner, and eventually, hesitantly, he asked you to wash his back. 

Despite having been slightly physically intimate before, there hadn’t been much bodily contact between the two of you since you moved to his cabin. Your hands trembled the first time you agreed. Grar didn’t strip naked, which you were grateful for and surprisingly disappointed by. Using the washrag, you bathed the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. His skin was warm and he felt solid under your hands. Each time, your fingers followed the paths of his scars. Of course you knew about the puckered arrow wound, but there were others to wonder about. Along his side was a wide patch of remodeled tissue, like a burn, and there were several that were thin and pale. They must have been deep wounds. 

None of them pained him, and eventually they were as familiar to you as the faded scars on your own arms. You became less timid to touch him, and he became less tentative asking for your assistance. Once, cheekily, you’d asked him to return the favor, and his hands shook so much, splashing so much water, that you pulled your shirt back on despite being soaked and swung around to grab his wrists. You apologized that you made him so nervous, and at his stuttered, abashed attempt at a reply, you kissed his palm, then stretched upward to kiss his face.

Your boldness surprised him--and you too, frankly--but a grin broke around his tusks and he dropped his forehead to yours. Wrapping your arm around his neck, he shifted so his tusks were against your neck. You kept him close and pressed another kiss to the side of his head, above his ear. He hadn’t shaved recently and the hair that was growing back was soft, and you laughed because it tickled your lips.

The Orc pulled away and looked puzzled. You had to explain that your laughter was a good thing: you liked feeling his hair and skin, you liked kissing him. Shyly, you admitted you liked his mouth and tusks on you. Once he understood, he nuzzled back against you, earning more laughter. He even chuckled too, a deep, rich rumble that made you feel ridiculously warm.

Those caresses seemed to break a barrier between the two of you. You realized he had been serious about not making any unwanted intimate contact without your permission, so you took it upon yourself to lay a hand on his shoulder or arm randomly, or to initiate a kiss.

It grew comfortable to live with him. It dawned on you one morning, as you woke up in the bed, that you were happy, even if it was hard work living so far away from other people. 

Eventually, though, you hated that you slept in his bed, and he slept on the floor. Grar never complained. He opened his bedroll every night in front of the fire, and every morning you helped him tie it back into a neat bundle. One evening, just as he was retrieving it from its storage place in the rafters, you blurted, 

“What if you just slept with me? In the bed?”

Grar froze with his arms above his head. After a moment, he carefully slid the bedroll back into position and turned to face you, but didn’t move closer. The silence grew awkward for you, and you felt like you had to continue. 

“You’ve been sleeping on the floor for a while now--”

His voice was low as he answered. “I am fine with that arrangement.”

You shook your head and finished your thought. “--and when you’re gone for days you sleep on the ground. It’s not fair that you shouldn’t have any comfortable place to sleep.”

Grar gave the slightest return shake of his head. “It is not bothersome to me.”

“It’s bothering me,” you countered.

The Orc stood completely still. Although you’d gotten better at reading the subtle expressions on his face, this time you couldn’t tell at all what he may have been thinking. You chewed on your lower lip, wondering if there was some way to make him understand what you were trying to say--

Then it dawned on you.

You drew yourself up, took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes. 

“Grar,” you said, “I want you to sleep in the bed with me.”

He continued to stand very still for a moment, but his dark eyes darted around your face. Then in one big step he was in front of you. Automatically you opened your arms to him, and he moved into your embrace. With his hands on your waist he picked you up to be level with his face. You gasped, then laughed at the unexpected movement, and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

In an imitation of the forehead press that seemed natural to him, you planted a kiss there. That seemed to surprise, then delight him. You felt the tips of his tusks drag along the tender skin of your neck and then one dig slightly into the front of your shoulder. Grar’s breath was hot and moist on your skin, and you shuddered. You kissed him again, and after a second of holding you, Grar gently set you down.

It only seemed natural at that point to keep hold of his hand and take him to bed. There was some jostling and minor discussion as to who should sleep where--mainly should you be closer to the wall so you could have more security between it and him? Or should you be closer to the fire for warmth?--but eventually you both settled in, giddy and on edge in a good way. 

Having never been in a bed pressed against someone else, sleep took a long time coming.

_tbc . . .  
(rating increases in the next chapter) _


	6. Chapter 6

There was enough fuel on the fire to last deep into the night. The furs on the bed were large, having been haphazardly stitched together by Grar, but they weren’t quite enough to comfortably cover you both. Laying on your side, you closed your eyes but it seemed like you could see the flames dancing through your eyelids, and it made the front side of you hot. 

You wondered if, like you, he was feeling apprehensive. Did he expect something more? You weren’t stupid. You knew what typically happened in a bed shared by two, even if you’d never done that. You wished you’d had someone to talk to about this situation, but hadn’t, and there was no opportunity now. You wanted to know if you were supposed to be this nervous? Were you supposed to be afraid? 

You _weren’t_ afraid, you realized; the warm tremors deep in your belly were more akin to the feelings you had when you touched yourself between your legs, or when you thought about the time you’d seen Grar naked by the river. Arousal, then. Were you supposed to be aroused? That seemed . . . vulgar, almost, but thrilling too. Because the Orc was so close you could feel the warmth of him, your thoughts easily turned to the idea of him touching you, his fingers instead of yours sending pleasure through your body, him between your legs, filling you like nothing you’d ever had before--

The thought of that did scare you a little, but you knew it was a natural thing, and truthfully, it excited you too.

It was suddenly too hot to face the fire any longer. Automatically you flipped over to let the flames warm your back instead, and were face to face with Grar.

That made your cheeks burn even hotter. Although he was so much larger, he’d been very careful not to touch you once both of you had settled into the straw mattress. You didn’t know he was still awake! His eyes, made darker in the shadow created by you, met yours.

Quietly, he said, “If you’re cold, you could . . .”

His voice trailed off. It was in the back of your mind to wonder what he would have finished his statement with: . . . have more of the furs? . . . sleep on the floor closer to the fire? 

“ . . . move closer to me?” he finished in a voice barely above a whisper. 

You weren’t cold, but even as nervous as you were, you didn’t waste the offer. You scooted over on the bed as smoothly as you could, hoping the crunching of the straw in the mattress would hide some of the quaking in your limbs. Grar carefully settled an arm over you; it was heavy but you could tell he didn’t relax and rest the full weight of it completely on you. Through the light tunic he wore, you could feel the heat of his chest.

It became clear you weren’t the only one trembling. For some reason, that made you feel better; your anxiety was shared by him. 

The neck of his shirt was gaped open, and suddenly, you had the urge to kiss the skin that was exposed. Feeling rash, feeling daring, you did.

Grar froze as he gasped in surprise as your mouth left a wet mark.

“What--why did you do that?” he blurted.

“Because I felt like it,” you replied truthfully. A faint burst of worry reined in your cheekiness. “That was okay, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean . . . I don’t want you to think . . .”

“Don’t want me to think what?”

“I don’t want you to think that I was teasing you,” you muttered, still flustered. “I don’t have much, well, I mean any . . . experience. With men. I didn’t mean to be so . . . forward. I shouldn’t have, I mean, I’m sorry, I just, just--”

Grar cut off your stuttering answer by gently taking the side of your head and pressing his forehead to yours. 

“I liked it,” he admitted. 

Even through your nerves, you couldn’t help but smile. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“ . . . can I do it again?”

“ . . . yes.”

So you repeated it, and repeated it again on the patch of skin his shirt didn’t cover. A noise that wasn’t quite a word rumbled something deep in Grar’s chest, and with your face close to him so you didn’t have to actually look at him you whispered, 

“Maybe it would be better if your shirt was off?”

His breath hitched at your suggestion, but he hurried to comply. You couldn’t help running your hands over the broad expanse of his chest. Under your palm, you could feel his heart pounding. You pressed your lips there too, then without moving out of his embrace peppered his torso with kisses. His heart rate increased under your caresses.

You thought about making another coy comment about removing your shirt too, but decided it was unnecessary; you couldn’t imagine he would disagree. So instead of mentioning it first, you simply wriggled out of your loose top and dropped it on the floor next to the bed. 

Now laying belly to belly, skin to skin with Grar, you were filled with nervous energy. 

The Orc was frozen again, for a moment, before he delicately ran his large hand on your side, from shoulder to hip. You continued to kiss him, and you stretched to reach his neck and the underside of his jaw. You felt him swallow. Because of the position you were both in, even though you both were still wearing some clothing, it was easy to feel his cock harden against your thighs.

He didn’t seem embarrassed by it, although it was dark enough that you wouldn’t have been able to see him blush anyway. Your entire body felt flushed, and a funny, quavery feeling settled in your gut. Although you were pressed against him and it would have been easier to simply kiss him once more, it felt natural to rest your lower jaw and mouth on his upper chest and drag your face downward, in a mimicry of the Orcish caress he’d demonstrated on you before.

That simple movement elicited a response beyond what he’d done before. When you’d kissed him, he liked it. When you’d asked him and shed your own clothing, he liked it. But repeating the stroke he’d plied on you, even as gentle as it was, even though you didn’t do it as smoothly as he had, Grar openly groaned and rocked his hips forward with enough inadvertent force that he bodily moved you.

Suddenly, what little clothing remained between you was too much. 

There was a flurry of awkward activity, punctuated by your own nervous giggles, as you both struggled to kick off your sleep pants while still keeping the furs over you. Finally naked, there was a pause, like neither of you were sure who should take the lead. Grar even seemed unsure where to put his hands on you.

Taking a breath, you slipped your hands over his shoulders to pull at him while you wiggled until you were underneath him, spreading your legs to accommodate him. Holding himself up on his knees and hands so he wasn’t actually touching much of you, he looked down at you.

Although the fire was still burning, it wasn’t bright in the room. You could, however, see him lick his lips. You tugged at him, to try and get him to lower himself, but it was like trying to move a tree.

“Are you sure?” Grar rasped. His voice was so low it was more a vibration to be felt than heard.

“Grar, I . . .” you started. 

Your skin felt hot. Your breath came in shallow pants, and your heart pounded in your chest. The sweet anticipatory arousal you’d felt in your belly spread deeper, to your groin, and you knew if you dared to touch yourself between your legs you’d find yourself wet. Although there had been no overt stimulation to them besides being chest to chest with him, your nipples were hard. 

Are you sure, he’d asked. 

You wanted him. You wanted him fully, deep inside you, in a way that no one had ever been before. 

“ . . . I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you finished, truthfully.

A quick, genuine smile broke across Grar’s face. His tusks flashed in the firelight as he dropped his forehead to yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. As warm as you felt, the heat of him was even more, and at your groin his cock nudged you.

When he pulled back a bit to give you air, you admitted, 

“I know _what_ happens, but I’m not sure _how.”_

He chuckled, and confessed the same. He’d been told about it, of course; at Clan gatherings Orcs weren’t shy about bravado in their sexual escapades so he’d heard more than his share of stories. Most of them hadn’t been with humans, but a few had, and it seemed as though the two peoples were similar enough to have no trouble sharing intimate encounters. 

He was concerned about hurting you, that he was so much larger than you, but being nude under him inflamed you more than just kissing him. You told him this was what you wanted!

With that, although you both still trembled, Grar took himself in hand and the blunt head of his cock slipped through the folds of your pussy. He moved slowly, attempting to find the right spot to enter you, but was unsuccessful.

At the second failed attempt you reached between your legs and wrapped your fingers around him. He gasped at your touch. Never having done this before either, you were surprised to discover his cock was deeply warm and although it was hard, the skin felt fine and smooth. You stroked him, because you wanted to hear him gasp again, and along the underside of it, as his foreskin slipped back, your palm found an unexpected bump. Your hand on whatever that was made Grar gasp again and his hips bucked a little.

Slightly less nervous after having touched him, you guided him to where he needed to be. With your hand steadying him, the head of his cock pushed into your pussy.

The sensation--a burning, heavy sensation--made you gasp. Grar stopped, then moved away again. You urged him forward again. Once more just the tip entered you. The same sensation was there, but bearable, and after a moment he rocked towards you a little more. 

You cried out. It startled him, and he pulled out again. That movement, the friction of his cock being pulled away, was startlingly good, and the noise you made ratcheted higher. In a worried voice, he asked if you were okay. Gasping, you asked him to do it again, but slowly, not too hard--

Grar complied. Now that he had a better idea of where to be, he didn’t need guidance. He slipped his cock into you, and out, and in again, entering you a little more each time. Your pussy felt stretched and the slight burn continued. You realized you were tense and holding your breath as he moved, and when you focused on relaxing, it was easier to focus on the pleasure instead of the pain. You couldn’t control the small noises you made.

Just as you were getting used to the rocking movement, Grar stopped. 

“Grar--”

With one last tiny twitch of his hips, the Orc was completely inside you. It was like nothing you’d felt before; you felt full to bursting and your groin was on fire in a euphoric way you’d never experienced. A long, indulgent moan slipped passed your lips. Experimentally, you clenched your pussy around him, and that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You could have laid there savoring the new sensations--his body blanketing you, his cock deep inside you--for a long time, but you became aware Grar was working for breath and his arms, holding himself up rigidly, were trembling. Guilt flared in you; you were thinking only of what was happening to you, with no regard to the Orc who was doing all the work!

Raising your arm and cupping the side of his head, you asked in sudden concern, “Are you okay?” 

With his eyes closed, Grar grit his teeth. You could feel the muscles of his heavy jaw clench under your palm. Through the pleasure radiating in your belly, a flash of worry hit you.

“Grar . . .?” you prompted with a dry throat. 

_“This feels so good,”_ he replied in a rush. He didn’t open his eyes but continued frantically, “I didn’t know it would feel so good to be . . . to be inside you! I w-won’t, _I won’t be able to last long--”_

Overwrought to the point of stuttering was not a state you’d ever seen him in before. Simultaneously it made you a bit concerned, like this whole situation should at the very least slow down, but also inflamed with arousal. He said it felt good to him, it felt good to you--you didn’t really want to stop. You knew he would if you said to, but that would be denying what both of you wanted.

“Grar . . .”

This time at his name, he managed to open his eyes and look down at you. He was breathing through an open mouth and you could still feel the tremble in his sweat-slick body. That was okay; you were panting, shaking, and sweating too. He gulped a lungful of air to say something. You beat him to it with, 

“Please!”

As you slipped the hand at his cheek to the nape of his neck and pulled downward, demanding through action instead of words that he lower his head to your neck and shoulder, you rocked your own pelvis upward, creating more of that friction you never imagined would be so delicious. The breath Grar had taken to speak dissolved into a deep Orcish groan that became muffled by your hair as he finally dropped his face as directed.

The permission you’d given him, the acceptance you’d granted, fueled his hips. The discomfort in your groin faded with each thrust of his cock into you; your pussy accommodated his girth and you cried out in pleasure as he filled you again and again. His weight pinned you to the straw-filled mattress, but you were able to cant your pelvis enough that his pubic bone made regular contact with the small, most sensitive bundle of nerves you’d discovered touching yourself, and you writhed involuntarily at the bliss it created. 

Grar’s moans rivaled yours. With his forehead pressed into the side of your head, one tusk fit neatly into the hollow of your throat. It was dangerous and that filled you with a different kind of thrill. A wave of euphoria grew inside you. You grasped at him, holding him close, chasing that feeling, wanting it to crest into ecstasy--

Grar stilled unexpectedly. It took you a moment to catch up; the wave had just been cresting and him stopping made it fade a little. A moan--a disappointed moan, you admitted unashamedly--escaped your lips.

The Orc was too lost in his own bliss, however. With the loudest noise yet erupting from his throat, he strained so hard against you he bodily moved you further up the mattress. He didn’t apologize. His hips juddered for a moment, and you could feel his entire body tense, then as suddenly as it came on, all the tension drained from him. 

He panted moistly against your neck as sporadic residual shudders rocked him. His cock was still buried deep inside you, and although it still felt good, it didn’t elicit the same driving pleasure as before. You felt the small pang of the same disappointment as when he stopped. You never knew how pleasurable all this would feel, or how much you would want more.

After several moment’s rest Grar pulled away from you, holding himself up with locked arms again. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. 

“For what?”

“I . . . finished too quickly. It was too . . .” he started, then shook his head as he broke off the excuse. “From hearing the others in my Clan talk, I know I should have done more for you. But I am inexperienced, and I . . . couldn’t control myself.”

His voice was tinted with shame. You pulled at him until he lowered himself again, using his elbows to rest lightly on top of you.

“It was good. I liked it,” you told him. 

“You did? I didn’t hurt you?”

You told assured him you did and he hadn’t. It was the truth. 

“I will make it better for you. I can make it better for you,” he insisted, even though you hadn’t voiced your dissatisfaction.

He sounded so earnest. You believed him.

Grar fell silent. Then he carefully pulled away from you. The sensation of his cock slipping out made your nerves sing again and you moaned. He glanced back up at you and you smiled that ended with a sigh as he moved over your leg to lay beside you again. Contorting himself awkwardly because of the position you were both in, he gently dragged his tusks from your shoulder to between your breasts before gathering you to him and pulling the dislodged bed furs back over the two of you.

You were more wet between your legs than you expected, and scrabbled for your discarded shirt to bunch between your upper thighs.

You hadn’t realized how chilly the room actually was while you were more strenuously engaged, and took advantage of Grar’s larger body and warmth. Being close enough to share breaths made butterflies still flutter in your stomach, but they were much weaker than when you first settled into bed with him. 

As you found a comfortable position to sleep in with an Orc holding you, you sighed. Then once more you surged forward to kiss his chest, just as you had earlier. His skin tasted salty now.

Grar chuckled at the caress. 

“I’m inexperienced with all this too, you know,” you reminded him. “Maybe we should practice a lot more?”

His chuckled turned into a full laugh as he agreed fullheartedly with your cheeky suggestion. 

_tbc . . ._


	7. Chapter 7

You woke up warm. Sweaty, actually! Bundled by heavy furs and pressed back to front with Grar, you were in a snug cocoon. A low noise was just at the edge of your hearing; without moving you tried to determine if it was his steady breathing or the wind outside the cabin. You would have liked to stayed exactly where you were in this nest of warmth. The fire had died down to glowing embers, however, and needed stoking. 

Thinking you could have it blazing again so the chill would be out of the air and make actually it more pleasant before Grar woke up, you eased out of the bed. You were wrong. It wasn’t chilly in the cabin; it was downright cold. Grabbing the nearest discarded clothing off the floor, you dressed quickly. The Orc’s tunic was too large, naturally, but it enveloped you in his scent and you liked it. 

Now that you were up, it was more obvious the sound you’d heard was the wind assaulting the cabin. As stout as the walls were, they groaned a little, and occasionally a particularly strong gale whipped down the chimney and made sparks fly. The slate hearth protected the area.

As you shuffled across the floor, the juncture at the top of your thighs throbbed. Automatically you put a hand between your legs. You weren’t sore, necessarily, but had a tender ache there. 

As cold as it was inside the cabin, it was nothing compared to outside. The temperature had plummeted, and the winds were bitter. Overhead, the fast moving clouds were solid slate grey. You gathered a towering stack of firewood and put it down inside the door as quickly as you could, then braved the weather once more to pack snow into a pot so you’d have water available once the fire was strong again. 

You secured the door behind you. Your hands were stiff from the cold you’d subjected them too, and your nose felt like ice. Still, you took several logs to the hearth. Carefully you encouraged the fire to grow again, and soon the flames were high and bright. 

Settling the cast iron pot to one side of the coals, you turned back to the bed, hoping you’d been stealthy enough that Grar had stayed asleep. 

He was watching you. When he saw your attention was on him again, he hiked himself up on an elbow. 

“I wanted to let you sleep!” you scolded.

“I woke up when you left the bed.”

“Oh--so you’re just being lazy?” you teased.

He shrugged his free shoulder. “Mostly it seemed too cold to get up. I waited to see if you’d come back beside me.”

He held his hand out and you took it. He tugged you back onto the bed with him; you joined him willingly.

“You’re cold.” 

“It’s freezing outside,” you agreed, as you let him gather you back next to him, under the furs. Running your hands over his shoulders, you discovered that his body wasn’t as warm as you expected it to be. In fact, the skin of his back was chilled. 

Seeing the expression of confusion on your face, Grar explained, “The furs weren’t quite large enough to cover us both. I let you have the majority of them.”

He’d spent the night with is back to the outer wall of the cabin, with nothing covering him, for your comfort! It simultaneously made you feel protected and guilty.

“You shouldn’t have done that! I was right by the fire! And why didn’t you cover yourself when I got out of bed?”

Once again he shrugged one shoulder. “I wanted this spot to stay warm for you.”

You grumbled at his generosity and tried to rectify the inequity of the furs, but despite your efforts, the Orc was unmovable, like he’d been rooted to the spot. He chuckled at your vain attempts to cover him with the furs. The one-sided wrestling match ended with you giving up in a huff, flopping back down onto the mattress without having moved him or the furs an inch.

“Had enough?” he asked lightly.

You clucked your tongue and shook your head at his stubbornness, but found it was hard to stay mad when it was so warm and he was so amused. Instead of harping on the issue, you told him,

“It looks like it’s going to be a bad storm.”

The Orc nodded. “I know. I could smell it on the wind.”

“Are you going out? To check the traps?” you asked as you settled back into the warmth, hoping the answer would be no. He’d be gone for at least a day if he did, and selfishly you wanted him to stay with you.

Grar considered the question for a moment. The clothing you’d found on the floor and put on was between the two of you, but pressing against him made your heart race. You wanted to bury your face into his chest, and kiss him, like you had in the dark. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked in return, instead of answering. “I saw you hobble a few steps when you got up.”

Your mind immediately flashed to the activities of last night, of his body over you, of him filling and stretching you. It reawakened that sweet feeling you’d had. You blushed. 

“I’m fine. Better than fine! I just . . . that was just the first time for me and I’d been told it would be painful . . .”

“Was it?” he asked in sudden concern. 

“No, no!” you reassured him. “It’s just an ache.”

Grar looked unconvinced. It made you ridiculously happy that you could read the expressions on his face so easily. Snuggling closer, you continued, 

“Like I said last night, we just need to practice more!”

“With the snow storm that I think is brewing, that’ll be the only thing we can do,” he agreed, but it wasn’t as dry as he tried to make it. 

⁂

The storm raged. Even with the possibility of collecting any fur that may have been caught, running the trapline wasn’t worth the risk of exposure or illness in weather like this. Grar had built his cabin stoutly, and filled the chinks between the logs well, but it was still cold. Even the fire could only do so much to keep the chill at bay.

With no outside chores to be done, you asked if he would be willing to sacrifice some leather so you could make thin strips to use as a thread; you wanted to sew the bed furs together to make them large enough for two. Even as the wind picked up and was strong enough to make the cabin groan, Grar hadn’t complained. He donned so much heavy clothing to get to shed that he looked like he was heading out on an expedition. You felt guilty about asking for it, and even suggested going out yourself, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

The wind wanted to steal the door from the cabin as he opened it to leave. He slammed it solidly behind him, and you were alone. You took the time to put together a loaf of bread from the starter you’d brought from your mother’s house. It took longer than you’d expected for him to return, and when he did, a snow drift followed him in, propelled by the gale outside. 

You helped him out of his most outerwear. The layers closest to his mouth and nose had ice crusted on them. Shaking them out, you hung them on the wooden pegs by the door. 

“Everything’s frozen,” Grar told you. “I went to the smoke house to get some venison, but didn’t have my knife or a hatchet. I brought in an entire leg.”

He brandished the meat like a weapon and you couldn’t help but laugh as you took it from him.

“Here is the leather you wanted.”

Instead of a supple piece of suede as you expected, the hide was frozen in a solid, folded sheet. You took it too.

“The meat will take some time to thaw, but the leather should be able to be used soon,” you said, placing both near the hearth.

Grar moved closer to the fire as well. “Can you thaw me out quicker?” he asked, scooping you up.

As always, you laughed when he hoisted you to be face level with him. You blushed his suggestion and shivered at the cold that radiated off him. Taking his head in your hands you agreed fullheartedly, pressing your forehead to his as he carried you back to the bed.

_tbc . . ._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Orcish traditions, and nsfw

The bad weather lasted days. It would have been worse to bear if you hadn’t been in the giddy early stages with Grar. Although there were some daily tasks to be done, there was nothing stopping the two of you exploring and becoming more comfortable physically with one another, no matter what time of day it was: early morning, before either of you ventured out of bed; during a meal, when you teasingly offered to feed him dried berries by hand; or even sleepily in the middle of the night if the mood struck. 

The mood struck often.

Grar, as he promised, took care of you. You both quickly became in tune with each other. You had your first orgasm with him as he fucked you slowly, buried deeply inside you, arching your back and crying out loudly enough to rival the winds outside. 

The smile on Grar’s face was wide as he watched you, but it didn’t last long; the rhythmic clenching of your pussy around him during your climax easily took him to the pinnacle of bliss too, and he came with a thunderstuck expression.

He used his fingers on you as well, learning the best places to stroke you to make you moan and shake. He would settle between your legs to see, although he didn’t dip his head to put his mouth on your pussy. He was too concerned his tusks could and would injure you. That didn’t prevent him from wetting his fingers and easing them inside you, thrusting them like a substitute cock until you grasped his wrist to keep him still as you came. 

Grar always kept his face so close you could feel his own panting breath on your pussy as he let you ride your orgasm out. He also always cleaned his own fingers off by sucking them, saying he loved the taste of you.

Once you made him lay back so you could be atop him. It was good and you enjoyed looking down on him while his cock split you, but it was too cold to complete the act in that position. You told him that it would have to wait for a warmer time of year to fuck him like that. 

You learned that the bump you’d felt in the dark on the underside of his cock was a piercing: a gold bar passed through the skin just below the head. It was usually hidden by his foreskin, but on occasion you could see it glimmer even if he didn’t have an erection. 

It gave his cock a faint metallic tang when you licked it. The rest of him tasted a bit of sweat and smoke from the fire with the underlying essence of just him, and you liked taking him into your mouth almost as much as he liked it. He never explicitly asked for you to use your mouth, but you offered it anyway. You couldn’t take him in completely due to this girth, but having an Orc squirm and moan because of what your mouth did to him gave you a warm feeling of power.

You asked him why he’d been pierced, if, as he’d told you, only the Chief was allowed to have wives within the Stronghold walls. 

“Tradition,” he replied. “Even though I have no desire to become Chieftain, it is common for Orcs to be pierced as a rite of passage from youngling to adult. The first is done here--”

Grar took his flaccid cock in hand, lifting it and pulling back his foreskin to showcase what he was telling you. Starting with the gold bar, he pointed a row down the underside of the shaft.

“--and more bars are added with each wife a Chief takes.”

“Interesting,” you said. You carefully dislodged his grip and replaced it with your own. His cock twitched in your palm. “But what purpose does it serve? It is just status?”

“No,” he murmured, the word flavored with desire and originating from deep in his chest. “It’s there to provide pleasure for the woman.”

You stopped lazily stroking him. “For the woman?”

“Yes--”

“How?”

Grar groaned. It was clear he would prefer physical action versus discussion, but when you repeated the question he answered,

“I . . . I’m not sure.”

You frowned. Before you could accuse him of teasing or lying, he continued in a voice that was tinged with shame, 

“I do know that what we do isn’t like what is typical for Orcs.”

That was confusing. “What do you mean?”

His dark eyes held yours, and he still sounded regretful. “I told you I don’t know how human men do things . . . during sex. I’ve let you guide how you wanted things to happen. What positions you’d prefer.”

“I still don’t understand!”

He sighed, and considered his words before speaking again. “I have been over you, between your legs, and you’ve straddled me. Orcs don’t have sex that way. If you were an Orc and we were to have sex . . . I would be behind you.”

At the last five words his voice faded almost completely away. At his continued obvious embarrassment, you released him and cupped his heavy jaw.

“Grar, why was that difficult to tell me?” you asked quietly.

He hesitated long enough this time that you didn’t think you were going to get an answer. Finally though, he said,

“Because I know what humans think of Orcs. That we’re beasts. Primitive. That we’re not people. And to have sex like that, behind you, while you’re on your hands and knees in front of me . . . it just makes it seem like what they say is right. That we’re animals.”

None of that had crossed your mind. Yes, you were familiar with farm animals and breeding practices, but it never occurred to you that someone might think that an Orc was the same!

Stunned, you blurted out, “I don’t think that!”

He gave you a ghost of a smile. “I know. But that doesn’t mean that every human knows the difference--”

“Who cares about every human?!” you interrupted fiercely. “I don’t care! I don’t care what they think about me, or you, or us together!”

A bigger flicker of a smile crossed his face. “I think some orcishness has rubbed off on you.”

“Or in me!” you teased naughtily.

At the dirty joke Grar laughed out loud. You enjoyed hearing him laugh and smiled impishly as your hand found his cock again. It had softened as the two of you had spoken, but grew again in your palm with only a bit of squeezing stroke.

With the same saucy smile, you said, “Let’s do it. Me on my hands and knees, you behind me.”

Grar hesitated. He licked his lips, making his tusks shiny in the flickering light of the fire. He wanted to say no. You could tell. But you didn’t stop caressing him, and the feel of your hand on him was soon outweighed whatever he thought about having sex in a position that some people thought of as crude or proof that Orcs were barely above animals. 

He nodded.

You kissed him. Usually your kisses went under his chin or neck or his jaw to the side of his head; this time you planted your lips full on his mouth. It was awkward and his tusks pressed uncomfortably against you. He was also too startled to react much too it, but when you pulled back you smiled in delight. 

Despite the cold, you twisted into position in front of him. You looked back over your shoulder as Grar slowly raised himself too, settling into position behind you. In the semi-dark of the room, his bulk looked a combination of solid mass and shadow; the flames from the fire at the right of the bed highlighted half of him. The gold bar you were now familiar with glimmered for a second, before he shuffled forward enough that you couldn’t see it.

With one large hand on your hip, Grar urged you up a bit. Even though this wasn’t a position you’d tried before, even though you’d heard the reason he was reluctant to try it, it felt right that he knelt behind you, directing you to spread your legs to accommodate him. It felt right to submit to him so willingly. 

Grar slipped his fingertips through your folds, earning a delighted sigh from you. There was a pause and you glanced back over your shoulder again. He’d brought his fingers to his mouth to taste you as well as wet them more. Then he repeated the action.

You pushed backwards towards him a bit. 

With some fumbling, he held the base of his cock to ease it into you, and missed. You reached back between your legs to help guide him in. 

The fact that he needed assistance didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was the immediate pleasurable stretch as he pushed forward. Grar gasped with the overwhelming sensation, and you did too with a drawn out moan. 

Whenever he first entered you he was slow and deliberate. This was no different. You could feel the tremble in him, as if he was unsure how much he could move. When he hesitated, you could tell he reflexively wanted to drive hard and fast because you wanted that too, but it was obvious he was worried if that would be acceptable or if he’d somehow do it wrong.

At his first tentative thrust, he did slip out of you, but managed to reseat himself quickly. You didn’t mind. This was different, but you couldn’t deny that the heat flaring within you was proof you wanted it as much as he did. 

Now the Orc knew the extent of movement available to him and held your waist tightly to prevent losing his place again.

Finally, with no argument from you, Grar gave into what you both wanted. He fucked you vigorously, matching your moans. It was rough, it was unrefined, and it was sublime. He was slightly clumsy and needed to lean forward to keep his balance, groaning into your ear to lower yourself.

Complying, you dropped to your elbows, changing the angle slightly. As he continued to thrust, that minute difference made pleasure explode in your gut. A whole new sensation of unbridled euphoria caught you in its clutches. You arched your back and cried out wantonly as you came.

Grar, his thick body pressed against your back, paused deep inside you, panting close to your ear. The waves of your climax hadn’t abated, and you shuddered under him. Through the bliss that made everything else in the world fade into the background was one heavy pressure inside you, one spot towards the front of your belly that continued to throb until it bordered on an ache instead of the pleasure. In a burst of understanding, you realized his piercing was stimulating that special spot inside you.

He began moving again. Overwhelmed with ecstasy, you continued to cry out in time with his thrusts. 

You maneuvered your hand to reach back to your pussy as Grar continued. Your fingers slid along his cock and he groaned with the added stimulation. In a few more moments, he came too, involuntarily shoving up against you so hard you rocked bodily forward with a thunderous groan. 

As spent as he was, he was still conscious of not crushing you beneath him. He held himself up on his elbows as he caught his breath. The hair on your neck not damp with sweat moved as he panted with an open mouth. You felt weak as a kitten, still in a haze, but smiled into the mattress as he carefully pushed himself up and off of you, dragging his lower jaw and tusks from your shoulder to the small of your back as he did.

He offered you a cloth; you’d both learned that it could be messy after he pulled out of you. As he flopped onto his back beside you, you slipped it between your legs. You shivered and sat up to pull the furs over the two of you again.

“I think we figured out the piercing,” you told him.

Lazily he cracked an eye open. “Apparently so.”

You scooted over until you were pressed against his side. Grar maneuvered his arm out to let you rest the side of your head on his bicep.

“Is that going to be your favorite position?”

You thought about it for a moment before replying, “I think they’re all my favorite positions.”

The Orc chuckled.

“It will be nice to not have to worry about frostbite eventually! There’s a whole new world out there for us to play in.”

He chuckled again and pressed his jaw to your forehead. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but close, and it plus the idea of spending time with him outside made you grin like a fool. You couldn't wait to have a good life together.

_fin._


End file.
